


December 1997

by Sab



Category: The West Wing
Genre: (Uploaded by Punk), Defining Moment Vignette Challenge, F/M, New Years, Pre-Series, Remixed, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-25
Updated: 2002-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sab/pseuds/Sab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was snowing, white New Years, dark early and the sun was set by the time she'd fixed herself coffee. (Uploaded by Punk, from you guys are just fucked.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	December 1997

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the defining moment vignette challenge. Remixed by Christine for We Invented the Remix...Redux II, [Same Old Lang Syne (The Back and Forth Remix)](http://web.archive.org/web/20070902182135/http://remix.illuminatedtext.com/dbfiction.php?fiction_id=42) (Wayback Machine link).

"You're still here."

Josh was in the bathroom, and he leaned out with a hand on the jamb, and his t-shirt pulled up and exposed a strip of stomach above his boxers. Mandy scooted up against the headboard and lit a cigarette and winked at him.

"I'm still here," he said.

She snorted. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's almost five," he said, ducking back into the bathroom. "When do we have to be at the thing?"

Mandy practiced smoke rings. "Now," she said, with careful laziness.

"Get dressed," he said, and she heard him spit.

It was snowing, white New Years, dark early and the sun was set by the time she'd fixed herself coffee. Josh came into the kitchen with his hair wet from the shower, wearing the blue sweater she'd gotten him and his favorite khakis, the ones she hated. He got himself a mug from the cabinet and she watched his ass and then read the paper while he put too much milk in his coffee.

"You don't usually stay," she said, over the paper. She didn't mean to say it like that.

"I stay," he said, defensive, wiggling his lower jaw. "Your apartment's much neater than mine."

"The campaign's been in town a week," she said, words tumbling out before she could catch them, and she wondered who he was that could make her so weak. She'd been wondering a while. "You've stayed twice."

"It's New Years," he said, like that explained things.

"I have to stop writing 1995 on my checks," she said.

He shook out the paper, hid behind it so she couldn't see his face. "You're, ah, we're gonna be late," he said.

"I'm going," she said, and when she went back into her bedroom the sheets were tangled and he'd left his wet towel on the bed, wet footprints across the hardwood floor, his boxers in a pile on his backpack in the corner.

At the New Year's party, he stayed close, slipped in beside her with his drink and wrapped his hand around her waist and she wondered if she felt fat. He liked to kiss her hair.

It was the first time the campaign had brought him to New York for more than an overnight, and she'd muttered to Carolyn that she might bring a friend to the party, might have a buddy in town, no big deal. No big deal, Carolyn had said. We've got plenty of booze. But Mandy had hired a cleaning service, vacuumed her rugs, did her laundry, went to the bank, went to the dentist. Took off work early to hit the gym every night for two weeks before he came. Gave up her life for him. And he stayed, though she hadn't expected him to, after all that.

And she knew it wasn't his fault, but she blamed him anyway. Because she was in love with him, and that was new to her and she didn't like it at all. 


End file.
